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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069275">One Night</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ieavethecity/pseuds/Ieavethecity'>Ieavethecity</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twenty One Pilots - Twenty One Pilots (Album)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>DO NOT READ THIS, F/M, M/M, if you’re not okay with underage themes, this is kind of a dark concept so please</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 08:42:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ieavethecity/pseuds/Ieavethecity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>this story is a little fucked up, not gonna lie. so just keep in mind, if you arent okay with stories that have slightly underage tones, don't read this :)</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyler Joseph/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>One Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this story is a little fucked up, not gonna lie. so just keep in mind, if you arent okay with stories that have slightly underage tones, don't read this :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He makes you tea, but you do not touch it. It sits cold on the table, sharp cinnamon filling your nose. He sits across from you, setting down a plate of peanut butter toast. A light green shirt is draped across his boyish frame, starkly contrasting the bruises on his collarbones and the curl of his brown hair over his face.</p><p>Dark eyes meeting yours. He doesn’t bother looking down to pick up his toast, bringing it to his lips. You stare back as he bites into it. You aren’t going to say anything until he does. </p><p> </p><p>After finishing the first piece, he wipes his mouth with a napkin. “You’re not going to drink?” He asks slowly, sipping his coffee. “I didn’t ask for it.” You say with a small shrug, a shrug that said 'what do you want me to say?'</p><p>“Common courtesy,” he says smoothly. “I’d offer you toast, but I have a feeling you’d... reject it.” You glare at him, hate building in your throat. Outside, the sun begins to climb over the buildings. Hugging the sweatshirt closer to your body, you wish you were anywhere else but there, wearing anyone else’s clothes. But it’s far too late to change.</p><p> </p><p>Even as your eyes drift to the window, he hasn’t stopped studying your face. “You know, you don’t look all that different in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“What, you expect me to?” You snapped rather quickly, sending him a harsh glare. </p><p>“No, no, it’s just- when you’re sober, things normally look less exciting. Less unique.” He offered a small smile, almost a smirk. </p><p> </p><p>“And...” you say, tilting your head to the side slightly</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs. “I don’t mind seeing you here. At my table. With... those.” He points to your neck. </p><p> </p><p>You fall deeper into the sweatshirt, wishing you could hide forever. “I do mind,” you mutter. “You do realize- you’re aware that this will be the end of my life.”</p><p> </p><p>He takes a bite of toast, eyes tracing across you. “And yet... you’re still sitting here.” </p><p>You hate that you love how he smells. You hate that part of you doesn’t regret the night. You hate that part of you craves the way his voice reaches you, like frigid water cascading over sharp stones. Words roll off his tongue like he owns you.</p><p>“I’m sitting here because I still have an excuse,” you say. “My parents think I’m at a friend’s.”<br/>
 </p><p>“Not for much longer,” he snorts. “I saw how angry she was. She won’t cover your ass if they come asking.” He paused a moment, a silence falling between the two of you. He sat up, clearing his throat before saying “Oh- believe me, darlin', I’ve been watching you for a while.” He smirks into his coffee, honey dripping off his voice.</p><p>You shake your head, eyes welling up. “I can’t fucking go home like this. My parents will absolutely kill me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fifteen,” you whisper, tears dripping down your face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” You looked away, feeling an uncomfortable lump forming in your throat</p><p>“Then fuckin report me,” He sneered softly, a small frown growing on his face </p><p> “I- I-“</p><p>“Yeah, that’s right, you fucking won’t.”</p><p>He laughs, shoving his face in yours. “And you never will. Why? Because you can never admit that you were drunk. And you can never admit that this happened to you. Because no one wants a traumatized kid that started drinking before they can even fucking drive.”</p><p>“So what am I supposed to do, Tyler?” You ask, voice genuine though hurt </p><p>“I guess,” he says, taking another bite of his toast, “you just own up to what you did.”</p><p>“And what exactly did I do?”</p><p>He shrugs again, a grin forming on his lips. “Oh, you know what you did, hon.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t fucking mean it,” you snarl. “I... was drunk.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just because you think you made a mistake doesn’t mean it’s my fault,” he says lightly, tapping the dark wooden table lightly </p><p>You huff and stare out the window. The sun is higher and you need to make a decision about what you’re going to do. Do you come clean to your parents? Do you sneak home and hope against all odds that they are as oblivious as they always seem to be? You don’t have much time. “Do you know how young I am?” You ask, tracing your finger along the rim of the mug, eyeing the liquid inside.</p><p>"We went to school together, Y/N. I'm not stupid." He said cooly, sitting up in his chair yet again. He sighs, sliding his eyes to meet yours with that fucking grin on his face. “Y’know, hun, you’re not very good at stopping yourself.” He reaches across the table, fingertips dancing across your bottom lip. “Especially when it comes to... going home.”</p><p>“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” You snap, slapping his hand away. Tears press into the back of your throat.</p><p>“Only in the head,” he laughed softly, tapping his skull. “And besides, it was worth it, wasn’t it?” You don’t answer him. You can’t. Won’t. But he won’t fucking let up. </p><p>“Of course you don’t regret it. You’re still here, in my kitchen, watching the sunrise and trying to figure out how you’re going to keep my sweatshirt, cause you’re sure as hell not wearing your shirt home.” He chuckles and sips his coffee, a silence falling between the two of you</p><p>“So don’t,” he finally says, shrugging a bit. His tone was sincere. </p><p>“You’re useless. Absolutely fucking useless. You got me into this shit... The least you could do is help me get out of it." You say, sitting further back in your chair “And I’m supposed to get you out of it?” He smirked a bit, a smirk that made your heart-rate quicken slightly</p><p>“Last night was fun. I can’t deny that- you’re better than you look. And maybe those marks you’ve got all over your fuckin neck are my fault. And I’ve definitely got some bruises from you.” He gestures to his own chest. “But I can’t solve your problems for you. You got yourself into this.”</p><p>“I-“</p><p>“Shhhh,” he whispers, holding a hand up. Peanut butter blows in your face as you try your damn hardest not to exist. You wish you were anywhere else but there, perched in a wooden chair that hurts your butt, avoiding the gaze of a dark-eyed boy that knows he owns you. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, voice mingling with the cinnamon that still rises from the cold tea. “You’ll be okay... I promise.”</p><p>A small shiver goes down your spine as you recognize that look in his eyes. A look that made your stomach flutter, made your breath hitch, made you feel as though you could fall in love with the boy in front of you. It was a truly uncontrollable feeling.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>alright, so you've made it to the end haha. howdy.<br/>anyway, i don't know if im going to start posting concepts on here. i may, but likely wont. i have a lotta fandoms i want to write for, and i have a lotta ideas (both dark and wholesome) i'd like to get to see written sometime. </p><p>so yeah haha. have a nice day :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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